Strip Me Bare (14 page)

I keep thinking about what Ryan said, that he
wants to be the father he never had. Someone loving, and caring,
and actually there.

Sometimes I wonder if I’m strong enough to be
the mother mine once was. Someone tough, yet tender and
affectionate.

Someone who doesn’t need to be the lifeline
between father and child. Because that’s what she was.

On so many levels I hate this man.

On so many levels I love him.

I won’t lie, law
school’s a bitch.

Over the last three months I’ve read so much
I’m surprised my eyeballs haven’t fallen out of my head. I’m
closing in on the end of my first semester. It’s no longer warm and
sunny in the city, the days have grown shorter and Thanksgiving is
just around the corner. Thank goodness, because I need the
reprieve. Not that I don’t love every single second I’m on this
campus. I do. I’ve just been feeling a little distant lately, from
myself, from my family, from Ryan; I’ve been overly focused on
school. Borderline obsessed. So the days off will be restorative.
And with me immersed like this, Ryan battles for every second he
can get with me. I warned him, but he doesn’t seem to mind. I think
that secretly, he likes the challenge.

I head across campus to the library where I’m
meeting my study group, when I hear my name being called. I turn to
see my uncle John walking towards me. He’s decked out in one of his
expensive suits; a black three piece with a white collared shirt.
He has his coat over one arm and a huge smile on his face. As he
reaches me he pulls me into a tight hug. “How’s my girl?” he asks,
with so much emotion you’d think I was really his daughter.

“Fine,” I reply happily. “What are you doing
here?”

It’s a nice surprise.

“I had lunch with an old law school buddy,”
he grins. “Professor McMillan, do you know him?”

“I’ve heard the name, but he’s not one of my
professors.”

My uncle John is one of the most renowned
lawyers in New York City. All of his clients are A-list, and every
case high profile. He lives every law student’s fantasy. Okay,
maybe not every law student’s, but definitely mine.

“Where are you headed?” he asks.

“To the library, I have study group.”

“Looking forward to the long weekend?”

“Yes,” I drop my head back thankfully.

“Are you coming to Thanksgiving dinner?”

“Of course, where else would I go?”

It’s not like my dad’s cooking.

“I just thought you might have other
plans.”

I look at him speculatively, the cool
November wind blowing the ends of my long, blonde hair around. “Why
would you think that?”

“Emily may have mentioned you have a special
someone in your life. I thought you might be spending the holiday
with him.”

I think I just went into cardiac arrest.
“
Emily told you?
”

My uncle fumbles over his words, “It slipped
out. Then I grilled her. But I think it’s great. You deserve to be
happy.”

I stare up at my uncle John, speechless and
slightly panicked. “You can’t tell my father.”

My uncle freezes. “Okay,” he drawls, “I
wouldn’t do that without your permission anyway. But can I ask why
not?”

“Ryan…” I huff. How do I explain this without
having it sound worse than it is? “Ryan just isn’t who my father
would choose for me.”

My uncle sizes me up. He knows all too well
what I mean; going against my father is like rising up against the
government. There are consequences, severe consequences.

“Alana, you know I’ve never agreed with your
father’s parenting style. He may be my brother, but I’m not afraid
to call a spade a spade. He’s an egotistical asshole who has no
right to tell you who to be or who to love,” my uncle’s eyes are
fierce. We’ve had this conversation many times. The ‘be who you
want to be’ lecture never gets old. One day I’ll tell him it was my
fire, that he fed my drive to emancipate myself from my father’s
chokehold and live the life I want, with the person I want.

But I’m not going to bite the hand that feeds
me. Not today. My father pays for everything, school, my apartment
and my credit card bills. So until I can stand steadily on my own
two feet, I’ll play pretty little liar for as long as I have to. My
uncle may not like it and I freakin’ can’t stand it, but that’s
just the way it has to be.

“I know Uncle John,” I pacify him. “That’s
why I’m keeping my relationship to myself. I don’t want to rock the
boat and lose focus.”

He smiles then puts one strong arm around me,
“Always level headed.”

“I try,” I quip.

“I’m extremely proud of you,” he says and his
sentiment is sincere.

“Thanks,” I rest my head on his chest. I
truly love this man.

“I’d like to meet him,” my uncle says
delicately.

I look up alarmed, “Oh…I’m not…I don’t know
if that’s-”

“When you’re ready,” he cuts me off.

I carefully consider.

“Okay.”

“And we don’t have to tell your father.”

“Um, that would be a written clause,” I
laugh.

“Good, good.” He gives me a squeeze. “Now go
on and conquer the world like only a Remington can.”

I lift onto my tippy toes and give him a
quick peck on the cheek. “See you on Thanksgiving,” I tell him, and
then breeze away.

I look at the time, it’s 6:30 PM on a
Wednesday night and I’ve been studying civil procedures for the
last three hours.

If I didn’t love it so much, I’d ask someone
to put me out of my misery. Ryan drops his backpack by the front
door. I glance at it impassively. I know what’s in it. His costume
or uniform if that’s what you want to call it; his cowboy hat, eye
mask and tasseled g-string for the Revue and the little blue
metallic shorts for the club. It’s Thanksgiving Eve, the biggest
clubbing night of the year, so there’s an extra show this evening
and all hands working at Culture tonight - yayyy… I sort of just
block it all out when Ryan goes to work. There’s a lot to be said
for blissful ignorance. I usually pretend he’s a car salesman or a
waiter or a gas station attendant, basically anything that requires
him to wear clothes.

Over the last three months things have gotten
routinely comfortable. I don’t get to see him much with school and
studying and all, but he’s usually there when I wake up and
sometimes when I go to sleep.

Ryan comes over and sits on the floor next to
me. He smells good, a heady mix of my shampoo and his deodorant.
The middle of the living room is my favorite place to study, with
all my books and papers spread out. He leans up against the cream
leather sofa and props his head onto one hand. “You going to wait
up for me?” his tone is suggestive, and it immediately uncurls a
very dark desire from somewhere deep inside me.

“Maybe, are you going to be a good boy
tonight?”

“Baby, if you want a good boy, you’re wasting
your time with me,” he flirts.

“I didn’t say I wanted a good boy,” I
counter, “I just want to make sure you remember who you’re coming
home to.”

Ryan inches closer to me, almost like he’s
stalking me. “I could never forget,” he growls.

“Good,” I groan as he pushes me onto my back.
He crawls on top of me and slowly starts licking my neck, teasing
his way up until he reaches my mouth.

“I thought you were leaving for work?” I ask
right before he kisses me.

“I am, but I want to show you just how good I
can be before I go.”

“Do you have time for that?”

“I can make it quick.”

“That’s disappointing,” I joke.

Ryan snaps his head up and there is a feral
look in his eyes. “Oh baby, this is just the warm up.” Then he
attacks me, his tongue on a mission. I moan into his mouth, letting
him have me; my hands raking through his hair, my body arching up
to feel his.

“What’s underneath here?” he asks alluringly
as he slides his hand under my shirt. I’m dressed in my usual
studying attire, a gray Columbia sweatshirt and black leggings. No
bra.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” I taunt.

“I would like to know, and I’m going to find
out,” there’s fight in his voice as he forces my sweatshirt up, the
warmth of his hands spreading deliciously across my skin. God, I
need him.

Just before Ryan gets a chance to pull my top
over my head, my phone rings.

“Don’t answer it,” he says immediately, a
decibel short of desperate.

I glance down at the screen; if it was anyone
else calling I would have listened to him. Instead, I push Ryan off
me and adjust my shirt.

“Hello?”

I sit up straight as soon as I hear his
voice.

“Hi daddy.” I look at Ryan, who’s kneeling in
front of me with lustful eyes.

“Yes, everything’s fine.” Ryan tries to kiss
my neck as I talk, but I push him away.

“Here? Outside?” I try to keep my voice even,
but I’m suddenly struck with terror. I get up and rush to the bay
window in my kitchen. The one that looks down onto the street. And
sure enough, there’s a black town car double-parked out front with
the hazards on.

“You want to come up?” I turn to Ryan who is
now standing behind me.

“Okay, I’ll buzz you in,” I say, and then he
hangs up.

I immediately panic. Not even thinking I
start to push Ryan. “You have to hide!” I hiss.

“What?” he snaps.

“Quick, get in the closet.”

Yes, I’m twelve years old and hiding my
boyfriend from my father.

“Alana,” Ryan’s voice is firm.

“Shhh,” I shove him inside just before the
buzzer rings. I hit the button to let my father in then spot Ryan’s
book bag by the door. Shit. I grab it and throw it in-between the
wall and the refrigerator. I glance around my apartment making sure
there’s no other evidence of him lying around.

The pounding of my heart is echoing in my
chest as I open the door. My father is standing there
assertively.

“Alana,” he addresses me with no emotion in
his voice. It’s just flat. Like the liquid in a glass.

“Daddy,” I answer him, and I know my cheeks
are a little too flush, “Come in.”
Like I have to invite
him.
He pays the rent. He steps inside my medium sized
apartment and seems out of place, like he’s too rich for my humble
home. “What are you doing in the city?”

“I have a dinner function and I thought I’d
check in on you,” he says looking around.

Translation: I wanted to check up on my
investment and make sure it’s doing what it’s supposed to be
doing
.
Which of course, when he shows up, I’m not.

He catches notice of the books and papers in
the living room. “What are you studying?”

“Tonight? Civil procedures.” I glance behind
him at the closet door, he doesn’t make a move out of my small
front hallway.

“Do you need anything?” he looks down at me.
Merrick Remington has never let me want for anything. And I’ve
never had a problem asking for anything.

Except maybe one thing.

His love.

“No, I’m good,” I try to smile.

He nods, “Well, I’ll let you get back to
studying.” He turns and leaves without a hug, without a kiss,
without so much as a goodbye. The door clicks and I just stand
there staring, left cold, like whenever I’m in my father’s
presence.

I hear Ryan clear his throat behind the
closet door and I immediately snap out of my haze. I swing the door
open, and find him standing there with his arms crossed and an
annoyed expression on his face. He steps out and brushes past me,
and I know I’m in trouble.

“You shoved me in the closet?”

“I know, I’m sorry,” I step closer to him,
but he backs away. His rejection hurts. “I just didn’t want to have
to deal with my father.”

“Deal with him how exactly?”